Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Jude

Present

It’s the day of my sister and Noah’s wedding rehearsal, and I’m already stretched too thin. Half of me wants to cancel, but I know I’d feel like an asshole. Plus, my family would heckle me nonstop, and never let me live it down if I bailed on one of the wedding festivities.

Today, the simplest things feel like too much. I can’t help but think back to when I was younger, certain that settling down and marriage were in the cards for me. But as the years passed, with no real prospects and work gradually taking over my life, that plan slipped through my fingers, fading into something that felt more and more out of reach.

After a grueling twelve-hour shift, fueled by nothing but four cups of coffee and the lingering adrenaline from the E.R., I finally arrive at the ax-throwing venue. The moment I step inside, a staff member hurriedly directs me into a room where a scruffy-looking man in cargo shorts is mid-way through an ax safety demonstration. The small room is packed to the brim with Madi and Noah’s friends and family filling every corner. Most of them are chatting and barely paying attention to the instructions. At this rate, and with this level of distraction, it feels like only a matter of time before someone accidentally takes an ax to the body.

Leaning against the back wall, I let my eyes sweep the room, and as always, they lock onto Ella’s dark waves almost instantly. Like a compass drawn to the north, she’s the first person I can find in a crowd. Her head is tilted slightly as she’s one of the only people who are politely listening.

The presentation ends, and the crowd begins to disperse, moving toward the reserved gallery. Rows of wooden pallets, each with different style targets projected onto them, line the space. The building has a retro design, painted with neon murals that glow under the blacklight. I could see how this would be fun if you weren’t running on fumes.

A firm slap on my back jolts me, and I turn to find my father and mother. They came into town a few weeks early for the wedding, and are grinning from ear-to-ear as they take turns pulling me into big hugs.

“Well, well. Look who decided to finally show up. You alright? You look tired,” Mom comments, her voice tinged with concern .

“I am tired,” I admit. “But I’ll be fine. At least as soon as this is over.”

“Go sit down and get some food for yourself. Looks like Ella just started passing out pizza,” she says, pointing toward a wooden table piled high with cardboard takeout boxes.

Ella stands behind the table, looking like a dream in denim shorts and a tiny sky blue tank top. I find myself walking toward her, completely spellbound.

As I approach, she glances up and sees me approaching. Her cheeks flush pink as she quickly looks down. Instantly, I know something is bugging her.

I stand beside her, testing the waters, while I grab a drink. “Hey, El.”

“Hi.” She gives me a brief, tight-lipped acknowledgment before turning her attention back to helping my sister pass out food. Her movements are deliberate, almost too precise, as she busies herself with folding empty boxes and organizing the table. It’s clear she’s putting distance between us.

I take a plate of food and sit to eat with my parents to give her space.

Our eyes meet from across the room periodically, and there’s a sharpness in her gaze, something simmering right beneath the surface. It’s not quite anger, but it’s definitely not warmth. Could she be mad about hiring the cleaning crew to help her with the house? It’s possible I overstepped, even if I was trying to do the right thing.

She can be mad at me any day though, and I’ll consider it an honor. With anyone else, she’s afraid to show those deep emotions. With anyone else, she holds back, worried they won’t like what they see. But with me, she’s always let it all out. The happy, the pissed off, and everything in between. She knows I’ll take it all without blinking an eye. In fact, I love her more for it.

As I approach, she leans against the wall, observing the chaos around us, completely ignoring my presence. The tension between us is unmistakable.

“Can I talk with you?” I ask, my voice low.

She glances at me briefly, her expression cool. “I’d rather not get into it here.”

“What’s there to get into?”

“I know,” she sighs. “About you hiring the cleaning crew.”

“Oh. Are you upset?”

Her eyes narrow, the intensity in her gaze burning with the fire of a thousand suns. “Yes, I’m upset.”

For the rest of the evening, she doesn’t even glance in my direction. It drives me wild. I thought I was doing the right thing by hiring the cleaning service. I thought I was helping, trying to take something off her plate. I would’ve gone over and done it myself, but I thought she’d be more adverse to that idea. I didn’t ask her first about scheduling a cleaning because I knew she’d say no or offer to pay for it. Now it’s clear I’ve definitely gone too far.

The truth is, she doesn’t have anyone to look out for her or take care of her. And all I want is to be that person—even if it means doing it from the sidelines.

From across the room, I watch as she joins the others in one of the throwing lanes. With scarily pinpoint accuracy, she nails the target dead center, the blade sinking into the animated bullseye on the pallet. Her eyes widen in surprise, a disbelieving laugh escaping her as the crowd erupts in cheers. Her mood lifts like a snap of the fingers, and I realize that maybe I’ve lost the ability to put that kind of smile on her face. I crossed a line, thinking I knew what she needed, and now I’m paying the price.

Beside me, Noah whistles. “Dude, you better make up with her, or you might be her next target.”

I don’t say it aloud, but I wish I was her next target. At least then she’d be close enough to hear me out.

The rest of the evening is pure torture. After ax-throwing, the entire wedding party trails down the road to the rustic barn venue to rehearse for the big day. I’m genuinely happy for my sister and Noah as they stand under the wedding arch, their faces lit with excitement for their wedding only two days away. It’s all a stark contrast to the heaviness weighing in on me. I linger on the outskirts, nursing yet another cup of coffee and trying to ignore the pang of desperation that strikes every time I catch a glimpse of Ella.

As the evening progresses, the crowd begins to thin, and the festive energy mellows out. I’m mostly quiet, watching as family and friends mingle around an in-ground fire pit, some swaying to a slow song playing softly in the background. Across the room, Ella is laughing with a group of friends, her smile so radiant it’s impossible to look away.

I take a deep breath. I can’t fucking keep letting this tension hang between us. Gathering my courage, I make my way through the renovated barn toward her. As I approach, she notices and her laughter fades, replaced by a guarded expression that tightens something in my chest.

“Hey, can we talk?” I ask.

She hesitates, glancing at her friends before nodding.

We step outside into the cool night air, the sounds of the party fading into a muffled backdrop.

“First of all, I want to apologize,” I begin, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry I overstepped by hiring a crew to clean the house. I should’ve asked you first. When I saw how stressed you were with all that work piling up and no one else to help, I wanted to do something. I know you wouldn’t have accepted my help if I’d asked.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have. Because it’s not your place to take care of me,” she replies, crossing her arms against the cool night breeze.

“I’m sorry I went too far, I really am. But I want to make something perfectly clear,” I step closer, breaking every damn rule I’ve set for myself when it comes to her. Cupping her cheek, I say, “If I could go back, I’d do the same thing all over again. I’d always choose to take care of you. I can’t stand by and watch you struggle alone.”

She’s conflicted, and I can see the war in her eyes as she tries not to melt into my touch. But it’s no use, her head tilts against my hand like she’s been waiting all her life for me to do this.

“I’m not sure what mind games you’re trying to play,” she whispers.

“This isn’t a game to me.”

Her eyes flash to mine. “Then explain that summer.”

The words hit me like a slap in the face. “I heard what you said when Madi came home from her trip. I was young, dumb, and hurt. Running away to lick my wounds felt easier at the time than actually talking to you.”

Her eyes narrow, the hurt clearly resurfacing. “What I said was wrong, I can admit that. It still doesn’t justify running away without saying goodbye.”

The sting of her words still burns when I think about overhearing her as I walked back down the hall to grab my phone. It’s the only thing that has kept me bitter enough from ever reaching out for the last ten years. And I absolutely know it’s a foolish way of thinking. Now, standing here in the present, I can see every wrong turn I took from that moment on.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ella. I shouldn’t have run without talking to you first. I’ve regretted it every day since. Hearing you say we were nothing when I was so fucking in love with you felt like a knife to the heart. But I should’ve stayed. I should’ve talked to you.”

A look of devastation crosses her face. “You’re right, you should’ve. Because I didn’t mean a single word of what you heard. And if you’d stayed, I could have properly apologized. I could’ve told you that you were the best thing that ever happened to me that summer. Or maybe ever.” She pauses, searching my face as if the answer might be written there. “You really loved me?”

I nod, the words catching in my throat. “Yes, I loved you.” And I think I still do.

The corner of her mouth lifts in the faintest, saddest smile. “I loved you too.”

Her confession sets every nerve in me alight, no different than if she told me she currently loves me. My heart is a total fool around her, unable to distinguish between the past and the present, forever caught in the thrill of her words.

Standing up a little taller, I let the knowledge soak in that our miscommunication made us miss out on so much good. That the whole fiasco could have been cleared up if I hadn’t been too chicken shit to talk it out. There’s nothing I can do about it now though besides clear a path forward.

“I want you in my life again, El.” I extend my hand out to her. “Friends?”

“Friends,” she replies, grasping my palm as we shake on it.

It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told. Because I have no interest in being friends with her.

I want to take care of her without trying to hide it. I want to wake up to her face every single morning. And most importantly, I want to love her with every part of my being, without any pretenses or barriers, for the rest of my life.

But friends is a start.